


A New Path

by Rosella_Burgundy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 09:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosella_Burgundy/pseuds/Rosella_Burgundy
Summary: Sixth year Draco is alone in the Room of Requirement at midnight on New Year's Eve and he makes a resolution to change his path the next morning.





	A New Path

**Author's Note:**

> My endless gratitude to RooOJoy for her invaluable alpha/beta help and the support she gave me. When I was ready to delete the whole thing, she gave me the push I needed to publish this work. All errors are my own.
> 
> Thank you to Dramione Fanfiction Forum for organizing this New Year’s Fest and for the prompt!
> 
> Fair warning: there’s cussing in this fic, and Draco is a tosser.
> 
> JK Rowling owns everything, I’m just abusing her characters. Credit also to the creator of Buffy. Who’s familiar with the TV show will notice some of Spike’s snark.

****

 

**A New Path**

 

* * *

 

There was a sofa in the Room of Hidden Things that was old and worn out. On some of the cushions, there were grimy, disgusting stains. It was repulsive, but it held a special place in Draco’s heart. As he sank in the couch, he absentmindedly stretched his arm to rest on the back of it, as though there were somebody there to hold. The witch that always sat there was not with him though, and the air around him became suddenly colder. She despised him, he was sure of it, and he couldn’t really blame her for it. He had been unyielding and nasty with her, especially when she had tried to extend a helping hand to him, and he had shoved that hand away violently.

He was also furious with her for pushing him to make up his mind. Granger had put him in front of a choice, but he was stubbornly refusing to take into consideration the option she had given him. Although he had sworn to himself that he would never contemplate it, staring at the empty seat next to him, made the most difficult of his choices also the most appealing.

With a grunt, he leant forward, elbows on his knees, and pulled at his hair until his scalp hurt and tingled.

Midnight and a new year were fast approaching, and he found himself counting down the minutes as the memories floated in his mind of how Granger had carved a nook in his heart.

 

* * *

 

 

**_TEN The Draught_ **

Draco felt like absolute shite. Since his sixth year started, a week ago, he had not slept, not even a miserable half hour. His head felt fuzzy as he dragged his achy body along the hallways, trying to keep in the shadows, his suit brushing the cold stone walls. His left eye felt twitchy as he tried to focus on the darkness beyond the corner. He couldn’t see well, and he wasn’t sure if what he spotted was the movement inside a magical portrait or a human figure. _Fuck it_ , he thought as he circled the corner, his muscles feeling heavy and strung up, the shadow of a cramp creeping up his calf.

He came to a halt in front of a tall, arched wooden door and quickly worked his wand to unlock it. It swung open with a cringe worthy creak, the sound amplified by the heavy silence surrounding the hallway. Draco swore under his breath, expecting to see Filch coming out of nowhere, or worse, Madam Pomfrey sticking her head through the opening. He sighed and stepped inside, squinting his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Draco had always hated the nauseating smell that lingered in the Hospital Wing. The balmy stench of disinfection and healing potions permeated the walls of his nostrils and slithered right to his brain receptors, giving him a headache to add to his exhaustion symptoms. Covering his mouth and nose with his arm, in an attempt at keeping the bile from spewing out of his mouth, he walked along the line of hospital beds and privacy curtains. Everything was covered in white sheets and shades, even the tall windows; it looked so disgustingly pure in the dim moonlight, and Draco loathed it.

He caught a glimpse of a movement behind a set of curtains, and his hand immediately jerked up as he slipped behind the shade and aimed his wand to someone’s chest. He had acted on instinct and didn’t think that he might as well be poking Madame Pomfrey’s breast with the tip of his weapon, but it was one of Granger’s perky tits that he was digging into.

“How did you know I was here? How did you see me? I cast a Disillusionment Charm on myself. It's impossible. I guess Harry always spots me too, Seeker reflexes I suppose…” and she went on and on rambling about crap he didn't care to hear until he rose his hand to stop her. After glaring at him, she began talking again. He didn't bother answering any of her questions, his mind too busy finding a way to get out of that tricky circumstance. Of all the bints he could have stumbled upon, it had to be Potter's swotty friend. She was not on a Prefect run, he was certain that it wasn't her night since he memorised the Prefects’ schedule so that he could roam the castle undisturbed. So, what was she doing there, for Salazar's sake?

Following a similar trail of thought, she urged, “What are you doing in the Hospital Wing, Malfoy? You can’t be here. You didn't show up for Prefect duty on your run day and you've been relieved of your badge. You should not be out of the dungeon after curfew! I will report this to McGonagall and-”

“Do you ever shut your mouth? Let me give you my answer, and I'll limit it to five words.” Draco held up his fingers as he counted, eyes on his rising digits, “Not. Your. Fucking. Business.” His gaze moved to hers before he finished. Rising the last finger of his hand and wearing a smug smirk on his lips, he hissed, “Bitch.” _And that’s for threatening me, Mudblood!_ He added in his head not to exceed the word count.

Her doe eyes and rosy mouth opened in an outraged expression, her plump lips forming an O. Before she could speak, no doubt threatening to suggest McGonagall to take a couple hundred points from Slytherin - they probably didn't have that many points yet, but he didn't particularly care about the House Cup that year - her face scrunched in a grimace of pain, and she slumped in the bed, holding her ribs and grunting.

Draco felt stupid as he realised that the most logical reason for her to be in the infirmary was that she needed medical attention. Before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth, Draco drew rather loudly, “What’s up with you?” He cursed himself because he sounded almost concerned but wasn’t in the slightest.

In between waves of pain, she shot him a scowl and scolded him, “Shut up...you’ll wake Madame Pomf-” Her words faded into a hiss as she couldn’t finish. Draco wondered how serious her injuries were.

Draco quirked a brow as she contradicted his conclusions and confirmed that she had snuck in there as well. The state she was in though, probably called for real medical attention.

Strangely, he felt the peculiar need to summon the school healer and help her. Not that he cared about her specifically, but seeing her like that was making him uncomfortable. His long fingers begun fidgeting with his wand, spinning it around as Draco fought an internal battle. One part of him was telling him to just obliviate Granger, take what he had come for, and leave; the other part, the conscience that Narcissa Malfoy had always tried to cradle, nudged him to come in aid of a wounded schoolmate.

“Do you need anything?” His mother’s compassion won, but he tried really hard to convince himself that he was doing it for his own personal gain. Finding out Granger’s weakness might have proved useful.

Granger lifted her chin and eyed him with a suspicious look. She probably couldn’t believe the fact that he had stretched out a helping hand to her; that made two of them. A long silence crept between them. Under the scrutiny of her eyes, Draco shifted his weight from one leg to the other and sniffled once, he was getting annoyed and impatient.

Another wave of pain hit Granger, and she cringed before replying, “I was on my way to pick up some Blood-Replenishing Potion.”

With a sigh, he fully gave in to his need to help her. He walked the short distance between the bed and the antique medicine cabinet, and searched it. It was stocked full of healing potions and balms, bandages, stuff that Draco didn’t recognize, and medical tools. In a hurry, he filled his pockets with Dreamless-Sleep Draught, grabbed a couple of Blood-Replenishing potions for Granger, and went back. Sitting next to her on the bed, as far from her as he could, he handed her one potion vial and asked, “What happened to you?”

She gulped down her medicine and made a disgusted face. Turning toward him, she told him how she got injured. “A Death Eater hit me with an unusual curse. He slashed his wand in the air and a flash of purple flames hit me right in the chest. I don’t remember anything until I came to here in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey didn’t know what hit me, but she said I had internal damage, no visible wounds, and she spent a day trying to save my life. I had to take several potions many times a day for a long time.”

Draco blinked and averted his eyes. She had spat out the words Death Eater as though they were fouler than the taste of the potion. He could tell she despised them. If only she knew... “When was this?” he asked, blocking his thoughts.

“June.” Her mouth closed before she could say anything else, for once refraining to make stupid comments.

Draco silently nodded. Granger had been injured at the Department of Mysteries, the same day of his father’s arrest. He also knew that the Death Eater that hexed her was Antonin Dolohov. The curse he used was his own invention and it was lethal. If not treated properly, it kept spreading inside of one’s body, causing internal bleeding. He couldn’t believe she had spent three months without a proper cure. “Why aren’t you under the care of a healer instead of sneaking in here for a potion?”

“I don’t want anybody to worry about me, or judge me for being headstrong, plus it hurts only every couple of weeks,” Granger bit her lip and her gaze fell to the floor. “Please don’t tell anybody you saw me here.” With a quick glance at his pockets, she finished, “I will do the same. I saw you stealing the Dreamless-Sleep Draught.”

Draco smirked to himself. Being nice proved useful after all. He jumped off the bed and tossed the second bottle of her medicine in her lap. “Fine with me. See you around, Granger.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_NINE The Restricted Section_ **

While he was trying to dodge Pansy’s annoying attempts to bed him, Draco stumbled across a conversation between Montague and Zabini in the Slytherin Common Room that should not be taking place.

“You remember the Weasley twins?” Montague asked, sipping from a full glass of mead. Zabini nodded, theatrically shuddering. “Those pricks shoved me inside a weird cabinet last year. I heard they moved the thing in the room that the Dumb Army was using to hide from Umbridge,” Montague continued, and Draco stopped right behind the couch where the two Slytherin were chatting.

Pansy hit his back and giggled, one of her arms snaked around his waist. Draco didn’t even feel her presence, too interested in what his mate had to say. “I spent weeks trying to get out. I kept hovering back and forth between the castle and some shady shop in Knockturn Alley. At least I think it was Knockturn.”

Draco sneered, seething wildly, and Pansy put a hand on his cheek, trying to pull his face down so she could kiss him. When did she even get in front of him? He rudely scrolled her off of himself and pounced on Montague, jumping over the back of the couch and shoving his mate hard on the floor. Straddling him, Draco lowered a fist on his jaw. “Shut up, you git! I told you not to say a word to anybody about that!”

“Draco!” Pansy screeched, while Zabini pulled at his waist and took his weight off of Montague.

“Are you barmy, mate?” Blaise gasped in astonishment.

Gasping for air, Draco realized what a fool he had just been. He was afraid that Montague would attract unwanted attention to the cabinet and his task, but his violent reaction had done just that. He wished more than anything to disappear into thin air and leave everything behind.

“Sorry,” he spat out to nobody in particular. Quickly, he admonished loud enough for the whole room to hear, “Not a fucking word to anybody.” Fortunately, most of the students were sleeping at that time. After a quick glance to Montague’s bloody face, Draco ran out of the Slytherin Common Room and left the dungeon in a hurry.

He was set to find the Room of Hidden Things, afraid somebody might have discovered the cabinet. It was still there, ready to be fixed so that more Death Eaters could enter the school. He groaned in frustration at the dreaded image.

Sinking down to the cold floor, Draco began thinking about his fucked up life, and somewhere down his stream of thoughts, he found his mind flooded by images of a certain Gryffindor with bushy hair.

It had been rather odd for Draco to ponder over what happened to Granger. His vision of the cause, as his father called it, had always been a detached one. He had always thought about war as a cleansing mean to bring back purity in the Wizarding World, an unsullied ideal. His tainted view had quickly crumbled before his eyes when his father failed his mission at the Department of Mysteries. He had always thought of Lucius Malfoy as invincible, always right, but seeing him while he was dragged out of the Wizengamot courtroom in tears and shame had somewhat damaged that image.

The consequences of Lucius’ beliefs had been grave, perhaps more on Draco than Lucius. Draco had taken the Mark shortly after, but behind a moment of brief reckless euphoria, Draco saw the hidden meaning of that emblem, a blotch on his family name. It was a punishment from the Dark Lord, not a gift bestowed on Draco, as he had tried to instil in his mind with his mellifluous hissing voice. His task was not an honour but a sentence. Draco was to die during his mission, that was the Dark Lord’s will. If the young Malfoy had succeeded, then there was to be gained for the cause anyway and the Lord would have to find another way to make the Malfoys pay for their faults, to kill Draco.

Draco was no fool. He knew he was just an expendable pawn in a human sized Magical Chess board. War, all of a sudden, had become a despicable mean.

Granger had been the idealization of the enemy for years, but in the light of the events of the last few months, she had become the symbol of the grossness of war. Draco had always thought about ridding the world from Mudbloods as a necessity, and he had idealized the thought, but seeing her injured had done something to his heart. He didn’t care, of course, he still deeply hated the swotty bitch, but thinking of her death was somehow alien and weird in his mind. He was pathetic, he knew it, he had talked about blood purity for years and when it came down to walk the talk, he just couldn’t.

Most importantly, if she died, he could quickly become a suspect - due to Potter’s late interest in his every movement - and he couldn’t afford to fail his task. Moreover, a thought was clawing out of the back of his mind and was screaming at him that she was still an acquaintance, a classmate, someone he had grown up with, and he shouldn’t want her dead.

Some time after the infirmary encounter, while he should have been researching for his mission, instead, he stood in front of a bookcase, staring at the spine of a book about healing magic in the Restricted Section of the library.

He had stumbled across it by chance, he didn’t walk to that section with the sole purpose of finding a cure for Dolohov’s curse. He had come to the library that afternoon and snuck into the restricted area to research a way to fix magical objects, vanishing cabinets more specifically. He had found what he was looking for but then the Healing section attracted his eyes.

He slid the book from the shelf and, perusing the index, finger pointing every word, he found a chapter on internal damage spells and ways to heal them. He knew that Dolohov’s creation was not entirely original, he had slightly modified the Silent Death Curse which did the same damage but left purple bruises on the skin of the victim. Dolohov’s curse didn’t leave any trace - sneaky bastard.

The chapter contained a detailed recipe for a potion that cured it. He shook his head at Madam Pomfrey’s incompetence. How did she not realise that she had the solution right under her nose?

Checking that nobody could see him, he slipped out of the Restricted Section and looked for Granger. It was a Saturday afternoon, and he was fairly sure that the bookworm was somewhere in the library, hiding her nose in a tome.

He found her in a secluded alcove, hunched on a desk below a tall arched window, the stained glass reverberating a rainbow of light over her olive skin. Her hair was a mess - it looked like an Augurey nested in there.

Draco dropped the book he had found on the desk, and chuckled at the scared shriek she gasped out. She raised a bewildered brow at him, and he gave her a small one shouldered shrug. “There’s a recipe for a cure to your injury in there,” he explained, knowing she would perfectly be able to brew it.  Granger’s cheeks tinged slightly pink, but Draco could tell she was leery.

“Why would you give me that?” she asked, and then her eyes narrowed. “What do you expect in return?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I expect nothing. Your heartfelt gratitude is plenty.” Draco turned on his heels, smirked, and walked away, knowing that, despite he had said the contrary, she knew that she was in his debt.

 

* * *

 

 

**_EIGHT The Dungeon_ **

There was a secret passage in the dungeons, it went from the Slytherin male dormitory right to a portrait on the wall next to the potions classroom. Draco often used it to avoid the common room when he was late for class, especially the early morning ones. He hated them. He was about to step through the sheer curtain that had been transfigured into a portrait of a beautiful young witch in an emerald gown when he froze on the spot.

“Malfoy is no such thing!” a female voice came through just as Granger appeared in the portrait opening.

“I’m telling you, he’s up to something!” Potter retorted.

“Bloody hell, mate. You are becoming a little paranoycal on this,” Weasley whispered, his freckled face also coming into sight.

“Paranoid, Ronald! Do you even know what that word means?” Granger snapped, and Draco smirked from his hiding spot. She waved her hand in the air, dismissing the ginger weasel. “Anyway, Malfoy is not a Death Eater. He’s not an evil person.”

Potter, Weasley, and Draco with them, flinched.

“Weren’t you there all the times he called you a Mudblood?” Ron’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red as his voice cracked in anger. “He always insults my family too!”

 _That’s true, and I have zero regrets,_ Draco conceded in his head.

“He wished you dead in second year, Hermione!” Potter shouted. Hermione quickly shushed him, swatting at his arm. Draco didn’t remember saying he wished her death in front of Potter, he had certainly thought of it though.

“I’m telling you he has murderous intentions. He had no qualm in breaking my nose and leaving me on the train!” Potter said to further back his theory.

“He is a prat,” Hermione clipped, “but I doubt he can turn into a cold killer.”

Draco’s heart gave a weird fluttering beat at Granger’s words, and he felt himself smiling at her from behind the portrait. The smile quickly died down when he remembered what he was to do. Whether he wanted to be a killer or not, he had simply no choice. He knew he had to do it. _That_ needed to be done to save his family, his mother. He followed Granger with liquid silver eyes as she entered the potion classroom before he stepped out of his hiding place.

 

* * *

 

 

**_SEVEN The Bathroom_ **

Since he helped her with her injury, Granger kept staring at him. At first, he tried to ignore it and avoid her, averting his cold steely eyes from her warm amber ones. After a while, he could not simply pretend that her gaze was not on him all the time, scrutinizing and unnerving. He could feel her burning attention on him in the corridors, in classrooms, and in the Great Hall. Her dark irises were constantly caressing his skin and following his every movement. He needed to be invisible to perform his task, and having Potter’s best friend following him around like a hawk didn’t help his efforts. He could not take it anymore, and he needed space. If he had to be completely honest, he had thought a lot about her words since she defended him against Potter’s accusations. He didn’t want to kill anyone. He was not a murderer, but he had no alternative way out.

It was crucial for him to find a way to stop Granger from doing whatever she was doing. So, one morning, he followed her in the girls' bathroom on the first floor. He fell into her steps and with a quick wand movement, he locked the door. She had not heard him until the door snapped shut with a loud crack.

Granger turned around, and her wand tip immediately dug in his chest, a sharp look in her eyes and a hard curve to her lips. She was fast and stood like a skilled fighter, and he wondered where she had learned it. She looked dangerous in her stance even in her petite little form. He smirked at her, and she lowered her wand a little, still keeping it firm in her grip - smart girl. She raised a questioning brow to him.

“Stop following me.” Draco was not going to circle around it.

Hermione’s eyes widened as she clipped, “You followed me in here, Malfoy.”

He straightened his back and peered down at her, that was beside the point. “You stare at me all the time, Granger, and I’m sick of it. Mind your own swotty business, you wouldn’t want the school to think you’re hot for me…”

He regretted it the second it came out of his mouth. Salazar’s balls, was that supposed to be a snarky remark? Pathetic. And maybe it was even more pathetic of Granger to fucking blush at him. She bit her lip, averted her eyes, and turned bright red - how odd. His stomach rippled in a weird way as though he had swallowed a Snitch. She nervously pushed a rebellious curl behind her ear, as her lip slid between her teeth again. His groin tingled as he thought of a couple of things he would like to do with that mouth.

As if it knew he was having impure thoughts regarding a Mudblood, the Dark Mark on his forearm prickled at him, reminding him that he had more important business to tend to. He shoved the thought of her to the back of his mind, in a little closet he had set up for his distractions, and slammed the door shut.

Despite he had heard her scolding Potter about his obsession for Draco not long ago, Draco knew that Granger was clever, and he was not entirely surprised when she said, “I know Voldemort gave you orders, and I can tell you don’t like it.”

Draco’s face remained pale and blank while his brain was twirling in confusion as a storm of hailing questions battered the walls of his mind. How did she find out? Was she just fishing? Was she testing his reaction to prove a theory she had? If she suspected of him, why didn’t she back Potter’s conviction that day?

Her eyes were soft on him, and for the first time, he noticed that they had golden sparks in their irises that whirled like aged firewhisky.

“I saw you sneaking in the kitchens after curfew and talking to Winky. I noticed you often miss lunch and dinner in the Great Hall. You are losing weight, and you don’t sleep well. I saw the Dreamless Sleep Draught you stole from the infirmary. I know there’s something going on with you and the most logical conclusion, since your father is in prison, is that Voldemort is using you to punish your family. If you need help-“

“I suggest you stop talking.” His words came out clear and even, but he was seething inside.

“We can go to the Order and-“

“Shut up!” He raised his wand toward her.

“Dumbledore could-“

“Shut your filthy mouth, Mudblood, or I solemnly swear on all the Malfoy wealth that-”

“What? You'll kill me?” She dropped her wand and spread her arms, daring him to do something, tear filled eyes piercing his soul. His words hurt her, he knew that particular word hurt most of all, but he needed her to shut up and leave him alone.

He blinked and didn't move, and her eyes looked down to the wand that was trembling between his fingers, a sad smile pulling at her full lips. “You are not a bad person, Malfoy. You sure are a prat, but you are not a killer.”

The truth of those words stung - damn her. He turned around and shot a Blasting Charm to the door that shattered in a million wooden shards, and stomped his feet out of the bathroom before he did something regrettable.

 

* * *

 

 

**_SIX Wet Dreams_ **

Draco started dreaming about her. Every night she haunted his dreams with her enticing curvy body. In his sleep, he did to her all the things he could never dare to even contemplate when he was awake. He used her lips in all possible ways and pleasured her with his cock. She also visited him in his mind the night before his plan was set to be put into motion.

Granger came to him in the Slytherin dormitory, lightly draped by a revealing nightdress, her nipples pebbling the cloth and her bare legs showing below her mid thigh. He sat up on his pillows and observed her as she climbed on his bed, wand magically closing the bed drapes. She crawled towards him on all fours until she settled over him, curls tickling his naked chest. With a lustful smile she slowly approached his mouth; she smelled like vanilla and pastries. Her juicy lips parted as she kissed him. His hands grabbed her wild hair, trapping her there so that he could explore her mouth with his tongue. She tasted like sin and sugar, and he couldn’t stop a groan to erupt from his chest. Struggling with him for a moment, she freed herself, and his mouth felt cold and swollen. Granger kissed his jaw, then his neck, her lips trailing down to his collarbone, chest and stomach, teasing and tantalizing, every kiss making his cock twitch in response. When she reached his pyjamas bottoms, she hooked a finger under the hem, stroking the sensitive skin under it with a sinful smirk pulling at her lips.

With one swift jerk, she freed his hardened sex and licked her lips at the sight, a moan leaving her eager mouth. Eyes locked into his, Granger grabbed his length and lowered her mouth on his tip, gradually taking it into her mouth, her tongue licking and wrapping around it.

Draco couldn't even begin to describe how delightful it was to be inside of her, and he wanted to take more of her. His hips bucked up, and his cock slid deeper into her mouth until she took the full length of it. The quick swallowing movement of her throat made him pulse and spasm. Her free hand touched his balls, her delicate fingers curling around them and gently squeezing. As she bobbed up and down, all the way on and off, she kept her smouldering chocolate irises on his face. She looked so innocent and yet so immoral that he knew he could not last long under her ministrations. Chest heaving and heated, he observed as her lips moulded around his cock, sucking and pulling. With a low growl, he tensed and emptied himself inside of her, his tip buried deep down her throat.

Draco woke up in a puddle of sweat, his seed smeared all over the inside of his briefs, his cock still feeling her mouth around it.

The next morning, all of his self control was not enough to avoid moving his eyes in her direction. He forced himself to focus on putting the first step of his plan into motion during that morning Transfiguration lesson.

It wasn’t difficult for him to secure a detention with McGonagall. He deliberately forgot his homework, again, and he spent the entire lesson half lost in his thoughts and half staring at Granger’s chocolate mass of curls. He had attempted and failed to not look at her, the way her locks swayed on her shoulders and down back too tantalizing.

“Mr Malfoy!” the professor shouted, pulling him out of his daydreaming. The old hag’s face was contracted in a wrinkly pout when he looked up at her. “Perhaps you need to spend some time in detention and go over this lesson with me personally. I’m afraid you won’t be partaking in the upcoming Hogsmeade trip.”

“Yes, Professor,” he said with a grimace as inside he rejoiced. That was exactly what he wanted.

“Ten points from Slytherin,” McGonagall added, not wasting the opportunity to favour her precious Gryffindors - the minging bitch.

 

* * *

 

 

**_FIVE The Black Lake_ **

Draco’s attempt to kill Dumbledore disintegrated right before his eyes. Katie Bell almost died instead, and Potter was quick to blame him. Had he been observing him? Draco had to be more careful from now on, he thought as Snape tried to probe his mind while scolding him for his bluntness. Right. Death Eaters are not really known for their subtleness, and yet he was miserably failing at being one.

He pushed the Professor off of him and rushed out of the castle. The chilly October air lashing at his face, but he didn’t care. He welcomed the cold draft seeping through his cloak, it was a refreshing wind for his troubled mind.

Pacing the school grounds for what seemed to be hours, he finally came to a halt in the proximity of the Black Lake shores. The water was still and calm, but he could relate to the havoc that dwelled underneath the surface. He approached the liquid pool and looked at his reflection. His face was blank and unmoving too. His insides were as twirling as all the creatures swimming in dark waters of the lake.

With a growl, he summoned the broom that he kept hidden there, tucked in just behind a shrub at the edge of the forest. After casting a disillusionment charm, he mounted the stick with a leap and took off. Draco loved the way things looked from the sky above. Everything was smaller and less defined, and he could easily pretend that his concerns were insignificant as well. He flew above the Forbidden Forest for hours, clearing his mind and just breathing in the fresh, crisp air.

When he landed, he vanished his broom and stared at the lake once more.

“Draco,” a whispered call startled him, and he spun around so fast that his head whirled too, making his sight foggy. There was no chance that he could fail to recognize the bushy haired bint in front of him, though. “Granger? Why are _you_ calling _me_ by my name?”

She took a step toward him. “It’s your name, isn’t it?” she replied, her shoulders raising in a shrug.

He shook his head, eyes widening in disbelief. Witty, swotty, Mudblood! Oh, he despised her so much. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“Katie will live.” Draco involuntarily sighed in relief at those words. “I told Harry to stop being paranoid about you being a Death Eater, but he’s after you.”

At first, Draco’s brow crimped in a furrow then his eyes shrunk to two little smouldering slits. How was she so sure it had been his fault Bell almost died? So she was the one that was keeping an eye on him for Potter. Draco had almost believed Granger was pining over him, but that wasn’t it, of course. How could he have been such a git? Not even Crabbe or Goyle would have given that a second thought. Her peering eyes on him were just a clumsy attempt to discover his intentions for her precious, scarred best friend.

“You clearly didn’t mean to hurt Katie. Who were you trying to hurt? What has Voldemort asked you to do?” Granger let those words out so naturally that they hurt him even more than if she had shouted them at him. Moreover, the calm way she pronounced the name of the Dark Lord unsettled him. Wasn’t she scared of him? Didn’t she know what he planned to do to people like her? Fucking Gryffindor.

Realising his reaction was too revealing, he relaxed his shoulders and stood tall. “You are barmy.” His words came out in a growl. Good, he had feared that they would have been a shaky whisper.

“I’m worried about you, Draco.” Those words hit him hard. Why would she care? She barely knew him and their previous brief interactions had always been filled with hostility and resentment. Salazar, she had even smacked him hard in the face once. His pride stung at the memory. Draco certainly didn’t need one more person caring for him, trying to _help_ him. He already had his mother at his heels, Snape was always trying to break into his mind, and Bellatrix...

 _She doesn’t care._ A voice inside his head reminded him. _You wish she did, but she’s just gathering information for Potty and the Order._

He broke into a hoarse laugh. Her face scrunched into a hurt expression, but she took yet another step in his direction. Draco felt the need to back down from her, but the dark waters of the Lake were already laving at his cloak.

“I know you are up to something,” she repeated herself. “Voldemort shouldn’t be using you to do his deeds. I thought about it. He probably gave you a very difficult task, like figuring out a way to sneak Dark objects into Hogwarts, just so you could fail.” She paused, and her feet moved again. He warned her to stay still, his hand rising between them by instinct, but she kept walking until she was right in front of him, the hem of her cloak brushing against his own. “He’s trying to punish your father and have you killed in the process. The Order could-”

“Shut your filthy mouth,” Draco spat out and gripped her forearms hard enough to make her flinch, eyes glaring at her. He would have regretted it later but right this second, he needed her to stop mouthing his issues out loud. She was right. Her reasoning was spotless, and she had been clever enough to figure it out in less than two months of school. It would probably not take long before the professors caught on to it. Maybe she had already told Potter and Dumbledore about her suspicions.

“You know nothing, Granger. You better stay out of matters that could get you killed.” Her lips curved up imperceptibly at his words, forming a sad smile. He noticed that her eyes were not so dark when she was hurt. Her chocolate irises had tiny specks of ember scattered around her pupil. They were twirling and shining like fairy lights as her eyes dilated and contracted. He blinked those stupid thoughts away, focussing on their argument again - that was the second time his mind wondered about how her beautiful eyes changed colours with her emotions.  

She wasn’t believing his threats, even though his fingers were digging in her flesh. “I mean it!” He shook her, his anger transferring from his insides to her skin from their point of connection. He let her go and hurried back to the castle, eager to hide in the dungeons.

 

* * *

 

 

**_FOUR The Room of Hidden Things_ **

He spent the next month studying the Vanishing Cabinet, using Crabbe and Goyle to keep watch. Granger had left him alone, thank Salazar, but her eyes still searched for him in the castle halls. She stared at him when she thought he couldn’t see her, averting her eyes quickly when he was too close. She was so damned obvious.

On a crisp November day, while the first snow brushed down the tall stained glass windows in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco heard Crabbe and Goyle arguing with someone outside the door. They were supposed to sound an alarm if someone were to approach, but they had clearly forgotten. It was actually kind of hilarious to see them morphing from large oafs into petite, giggling girls. Polyjuice couldn’t fix stupid, though and, as Draco stepped closer to the door to determine what the fuss was about, he heard two distinct thuds hitting the door.

The enormous gateway to the room opened and Crabbe and Goyle rolled in, blonde locks sprawled on the stone floor. A petite witch stepped over the stunned bodies and, with a quick flick of her wand, she shoved the two idiots aside and shut the door - smart witch. Somebody could have seen them in the corridor. Another wand wave bounded Crabbe and Goyle. Draco had been speechless; he had observed with wide eyes and open mouth, his wand firmly in his hand, ready to stun Potter or Weasel in case they were with her. Something in the back of his head, safely locked in a mind cell, told him not to stun Granger.

She walked past him, only a smile as a greeting and sat on a pile of old rags that laid abandoned among the mountains of trash in the room. He followed her with his eyes, his body slowly rotating with them.

Silence stretched between them and grew thick while he was waiting for her to speak.

“Harry has someone following you,” she informed him, her eyes focused on the intricate design of her wand.

His own weapon was still aimed at her chest, a slight tremble at the top of it. “That someone is not doing a good job at being secretive about it.” He sneered at her crunched figure.

“It’s not me, Draco.” _Draco_ , again. His name sounded alien to his ear when she said it with such casualness. Her voice sent a deep shiver through the nerves of his spine.

“How long have you been following me?” Draco asked, trying to be calm.

“I don’t follow you, but there might be some house-elves loyal to Harry that do. I simply followed Winky, I know she brings food to you here,” she responded.

She lifted her chin up, and her sparkly ember eyes met his grey ones. He opened his mouth once, twice, but then closed it without letting any words out.  He had read her thoughts with ease and saw it as clear as a summer sky. The motive behind her interest in him was abhorring, it was pity. He was her fucking project. She felt the need to rescue every stray creature on her path, and she thought he was one of them. No, thanks. He had selfishly wished she was pining over him at first, too enticed by her curvy body, her pretty face, and her kindness. Then he had hoped she had been just spying on him for Potter, but this...this was shite. He didn’t need anyone’s compassion. He was perfectly in control of everything. _Lies,_ the voice in his head chimed in.

“What the fuck is this, Granger?” he shouted, erasing the distance between them. At the sight of his angry face and his body towering over her, she recoiled.

“What?” Her eyes were wide, and he could feel her heart thrumming in her chest through the vibrations it was sending up the core of his wand that was digging in her chest.

“I’m not a fucking house-elf in need of saving!” he spat out.

Granger pinched her eyebrows together, confusion spreading on her face. Why was she playing stupid all of a sudden? After she had figured his plan out so easily; after she had found his hideout in such a short time. Regaining a bit of her golden courage, she slowly pulled herself up to standing; his body straightened back up with her. Her eyes never left his own. She was too close. He needed her to back up so he yelled some more, “I’m not your side project! You can’t change me! You can’t pull me into the Light just because you are…” He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. Pure? Kind? Stupid? Shite…“People don’t fucking change, witch! And as sure as hell, I don’t want your damned pity!”

Granger’s hand rose from her side and gently pushed Draco’s arm down, lowering the wand between them. “No, people don’t change their attitudes or character, you are right, but they can have a change of heart. I know you don’t think of me as a Mudblood anymore.”

Draco scoffed, shaking his head. “You are dreaming.” With anger, he undid his cuff button on his left arm and with one jerk, he exposed the blasphemy on his forearm. Hermione cringed a little at the sight, eyes narrow and hard. That was it, he thought. She was going to leave and never talk to him again. She was going to go straight to the Order and make sure that they capture him so that he couldn’t harm anyone else. And he might let her because he was so fucking tired of his oppressing life.

Surprisingly, she smiled one of those glorious, heart bestowing smiles that revealed little dimples next to her rosy mouth, and his heart skipped a beat. “You just barely called me _witch_ , not Mudblood.”

Granger took one step closer, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pulled him until their bodies touched. Draco’s core tensed, and she squeezed harder. He remained still for two beats of his life giving muscle. Somehow all the worries and the weight of his task lifted from Draco’s chest, and he melted in her arms. He closed his arms on her back, abandoning his head on her, chin resting on top of her messy curls. He hung on to her as though she were the only hold against the black abyss he was suspended on. Perhaps, her concern, as much as his adolescent, stupid self had wished it to be, was not romantic in nature. Maybe she was just genuinely concerned about a fellow student, who was clearly having a hard time. She was just a better person that he could ever hope to be and didn’t want him to get hurt. It didn’t matter at the moment, though. Draco stopped thinking for some precious moments and held her tight.

 

* * *

 

 

**_THREE The Sofa_ **

She came to check on him often after their embrace, and Draco had the chance to understand that swotty bookworm a little better. He discovered that she was a greater witch than most of his pure blooded fellow Slytherins, and that she often fidgeted with her wand when she was nervous, as though it wasn’t a natural continuation of her arm but just a foreign object. Perhaps, her Muggle upbringing was still affecting the way she viewed magic.

Draco also realised that he didn’t care about her blood anymore, and that he almost liked the way her eyes sparkled the rare times she had a subtle way to hint about how she could easily get him out of his predicament. He absolutely hated her when she was pushy about it which was for the majority of the times. He kept ignoring or dodging her attempts, distracting her with the upcoming lessons or how she solved the latest arithmancy problem. She knew exactly what he was trying to fix, but her love for instruction was greater, he thought. Later, he understood that she was so convinced that Draco would listen to her at some point and join the Order that she never made a comment about it.

Granger had transfigured the old rags and junk pile into a dirty sofa, and the witch liked to sit on it and watch him work. Draco, for a reason that remained obscure to him, loved that filthy couch. It was comfortable, and he relished the warmth Hermione left on the cushions once she went back to the Gryffindor tower for the night. Hugged by her calming scent, he often slept on it.

 

* * *

 

 

**_TWO Hermione_ **

Two days before the students left the castle for the Christmas holidays, Hermione - he had started calling her by her name as well at some point, and it felt natural - had come to wish him happy holidays. She was sitting on the old couch, spinning her wand in her hands. She was gorgeous in that dress, having just come from Slughorn’s party. Snape threw him out of it and questioned him, so he wasn't in a good mood - well, lately, he never was. His mother had been pestering him about the upcoming holidays and the need for his presence at the Manor. He had refused. He didn't want to go home empty handed and face the Dark Lord's wrath. Narcissa Malfoy would have to spend her Christmas alone. He felt terrible, but not enough to take the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione’s sighs and fidgety sounds filled the echoing silence in the room.

“Out with it, woman!” he finally commanded.

“I was just wondering…” she purposely left her sentence open to spark his attention - minx. Draco didn’t take the bait. She huffed before she continued, “You should come to my house for my parents’ New Year’s party.”

That was proof that Granger had finally lost her mind in one of her abstruse, heavy books. She stood up and walked the short distance that separated the vanishing cabinet he stood in front of from the sofa. “I don’t like the idea of you being here alone. I could take you to the Burrow after. Lupin will be there, and-”

Draco scoffed at her, his head shaking side to side. “I told you I don’t want your pity!”

She grimaced at first, but then smiled, her lips gently lifting her rosy cheeks. With slow movements, she walked to him until she was so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Draco turned to the vanishing cabinet, avoiding her eyes. Hermione tentatively laid a hand on his arm, the heat of her penetrating through the thin cotton shirt he was wearing, just above his mark. She spoke in a hushed voice as though she weren’t sure if she should say the words, “I care for you, it’s not pity, you tosser, it’s-”

“Don’t, whatever you were about to say. Fucking don’t.” His voice failed him, coming out in a shaky hiss, his eyes firmly on the intricate metal motif on the dark, wooden surface of the cabinet. She was too close, again. It was not easy to shut her out when she was right there, engulfing him with her warmth and the scent of her shampoo, the scent of her skin. He didn’t want to hear that word, whatever it was, it would make him run away. He was not accustomed to be on the receiving side of empathy or...love. The only person who he was sure loved him was his mother, but he didn’t see her much lately.

Hermione pulled his arm to get him to turn, and his mind disentangled itself out of the fog of his thought. Draco fought her and easily won the strength battle, but he quickly gave up when she moved and positioned herself right in front of him, the sight of the cabinet replaced by her heart shaped face, framed with curly chocolate hair. Her eyes found his own and trapped them. Draco glanced between her beautiful amber irises and flinched when he caught a glimpse of her soul in them. There, in her eyes, there was a spark of something he had never experienced in his life. A warm emotion that shone bright and strong. Love. And not the maternal kind.

His heart galloped in his chest, a stampede of centaurs raiding his soul. A loose curl unravelled itself from its spot behind Hermione’s ear, and Draco captured it with two fingers of his right hand. He didn’t know if he could return the feeling she was so selflessly offering, but decided he could at least try. She bit her lip in that innocent way that made his insides burn, pinching the plump lower lip with her teeth. He wondered if she did it on purpose, if she knew what havoc she caused inside him. It didn’t fucking matter. He moved the lock back and his hand captured the nape of her neck. His left thumb brushed her chin, applying a little pressure so that he could free her lip from her bite. He smirked at the captivating wetness on her lip, and with a low _fuck it,_ Draco pulled Hermione close and he leaned in, capturing her mouth with his own.

Her lips felt exactly how he dreamt they would. He could taste the pumpkin pie they had for dinner, all cinnamon and sugar. It was fucking sinful. Her scent made his head spin and he held her even closer, her breasts touching his chest, her hips on his upper thighs, and her hands on his neck, stroking just where he loved it. With some effort, he disentangled his hand from her curls, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching her buttocks and lifting her up. He pinned her against the vanishing cabinet and for a split second he thought about locking the both of them in there and just disappearing, but then her hands caressed his shoulders and arms and the thought just slipped away.

She kissed him with passion, abandoning herself to his touch. His hands wandered to her knickers, her dress giving him easy access to her centre. He moved the border of her underwear out of the way and reached her damp folds. Moaning and mewling, Hermione grounded her hips against his fingers, until her eyes snapped open and went wide.

“Stop!” she said when he felt her stiffening and let go of her lips. Draco instantly moved his hands away, and Hermione almost fell. Still panting and flush, she locked eyes with him, a little scowl forming on her face. He wondered what was wrong. He hadn’t forced himself on her, right?

“I’m sorry, but we can’t be doing this if you are not coming with me.” She briskly walked away from him, slamming the door, the sound echoing through the room of Hidden Things for many moments after she was gone.

Draco scoffed, his hand adjusting the bulge in his trousers. What kind of fucked up game was she playing at?

 

* * *

 

 

**_ONE Draco_ **

Anger seething and slithering in every nook and cranny of his being, he paced the Room of Hidden Things for the rest of the evening until he passed out on the old sofa. There he remained. The hours before the new year found him still on that couch as they slowly passed. Winky came to visit him and bring him food, wobbling on her feet from heavy alcohol consumption.

One minute before midnight struck, Draco rose from his sunken cushion and dragged himself in front of the vanishing cabinet. The tall artefact towered over him, dangerous and oppressing. Nothing good could come out of it if he ever managed to fix it.

Hermione was right as she often was. He couldn’t do what Voldemort had asked him. He was not a killer. He did not wish to see Dumbledore dead or his school pillaged by a bunch of criminals with black robes. What to do? The Order’s offering was quite alluring. They could keep him and his mother safe until the war was over. At what cost though? His dignity would be destroyed, if he had any left, that was.

Draco was torn. That was by far the hardest decision he had to make in his young life. In the end, as the seconds ticked to the new year and to his new beginning, he made a decision.

 _Five_ seconds to midnight, he reached in his pocket and extracted a small, black velvet sack. _Four._ He looked inside and smiled at the little trinket that was resting, protected, in there. _Three._ He closed his eyes and all he saw was Hermione, her smile, her delicate hands, and her warm irises. _Two._ He thought of his mother and wished to take her away from the danger the Dark Lord posed to her. _One._ Draco’s eyes opened, and a crooked grin spread on his face. He made his choice, blaming Hermione for fuelling the need to run away and damning her for making him fall for her to begin with.

His New Year's resolution was to get the hell out of the mess his life had become. It was all Hermione’s fault. He had tried to push her away but she kept returning to him, over and over.

 

* * *

 

 

**_MIDNIGHT_ **

Draco called the house-elf that had been helping him the whole time with an enchanted Galleon that he had been using to communicate with her. Winky appeared next to him in a matter of seconds.

“Happy n’year, Mister M’foy!” she slurred, alcohol fumes coming from her mouth. Draco didn’t bother answering.

“You know what to do, Winky. See you in Hogsmeade in half an hour. I’ve decided to leave.”

The elf disappeared with a crack, and Draco hurried out of the Room of Hidden Things. He had learned many ways to get in and out of the castle unnoticed. He was used to sneaking around at night and he was confident about which halls were safe to go through. He descended the stairs to the fourth floor where, behind a mirror, there was a secret passage that led to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, where the village met the Forest. Draco had found it at the beginning of the year when he needed a way to go to the Three Broomsticks and check on the Imperius Spell he had put on Madam Rosmerta. The ceiling of the passage had been caved in, but he had managed to repair it with some research and some incantations.

He easily made his way out of the castle thanks to the fact that the passage was spacious and it descended smoothly to the village.

Draco popped out of a hole in the ground behind a large rock. The hole was not visible to untrained eyes, it was covered by an enchanted bush. Winky was not there yet, so he leaned on the boulder and crossed his arms. From where he was, he could see the silhouette of the castle towering against the night sky, and with a pang in his heart, he realized that he probably would never see it again.

The air shifted, and the familiar crack of the elf apparition caught his attention. Winky was holding both his mother’s and Hermione’s hands. Narcissa was wearing a satin nightgown and a pair of expensive dragon hyde slippers that barely covered her feet from the cold. Hermione was gorgeous, wrapped in a knee length strapless blue dress.

Before they both froze to death, Draco summoned a shrunken trunk from his robes and, engorging it, he retrieved two heavy wool cloaks.

“Draco dear, what is going on? Why did this servant kidnap me and bring me to a Muggle house to fetch a Mudblood?” his mother questioned while wearing her cloak, the hem of her satin nightgown sticking out from the bottom.

“Draco, you’ve decided to come to the Burrow?” Hermione was looking at him with hopeful, joyful eyes.

“Draco, what is this? I can’t move my feet.” His mother was getting agitated because he had instructed Winky to cast a binding spell upon their arrival.

“We need to hurry if we want to find Lupin still there, it’s getting late,” Hermione said, smoothing the cloak on her sides.

“No,” Draco clipped, moving closer to Hermione. With a sad smile, Draco tucked a curl behind her ear. He knew that he had to do it; otherwise, she would get so cross. What he was about to do was not exactly what she had in mind, but she asked for it the moment she decided to step in his fucked up life.

Quickly aiming his wand to her temple, he hissed, “Obliviate.” Draco reached inside her mind, removing all the memories of her life with Potter and Weasley, leaving just the memories of him, of her love for him.

“Draco! What are you doing?” Narcissa was hysterical, trying to move and reaching for her wand, but Winky had taken it.

Draco reached in his pocket and extracted the sack of black velvet. “Mother, Hermione, we are going to France until this shite is over!”

“What?” Hermione looked at him with a bewildered look, not understanding what was going on. He smiled at her and she seemed to calm down.

“I love you, Hermione. We are going to be okay. The Malfoy family has a cottage in Normandy.” Gently stroking her cheek, he rose his wand to her head again and whispered, “Imperio. You are coming without questioning me. Everything will be fine, love.” Hermione absentmindedly nodded, eyes blank and unobservant.

Extracting a white shell, he pronounced an incantation, and the trinket let out a shimmer and started vibrating.

Draco grabbed Hermione’s hand and approached his mother. He put his hand on the shell the instant he touched Narcissa, and the Portkey pulled them away. As he felt the pull in his belly, he shouted a quick ‘Thank you’ to Winky.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about the prompt a lot and decided to twist it. As much as I love Draco and I believe in his redemption, he is a prat in this fic. He is a disrespectful and selfish git. The way he treats Hermione is not okay. We all love a bad boy, but this is not real life. It’s just fanfiction. Be kind to yourselves. Happy New Year.


End file.
